Chapter Five: Apologies and Awkward Air Episode
561 Words
By Monday, Zara had officially ghosted Dami for three days.
She wasn’t proud of it, but every time she picked up her phone to reply, her pride would whisper: Don’t do it. Let him sweat.
But if she was being honest, she was the one doing all the sweating.
She had replayed that photo in her mind at least fifty times. It lived rent-free in her brain—Dami, arm around some mystery Leila, smiling like he didn’t just melt her heart with hot chocolate and soft laughter.
Zara had always been good at pretending things didn’t affect her. But this? This stung in places she didn’t even know she could feel pain.
On Tuesday afternoon, her doorbell rang.
Zara opened it to find… Dami.
Holding a pink box of cupcakes.
“Hey,” he said, cautiously, as if he was approaching a skittish cat. “I figured you wouldn’t reply, so I came bearing sweets.”
Zara crossed her arms. “You tracked me down with desserts?”
He gave a sheepish smile. “Technically, you told me you lived on this street. I just counted door numbers until someone looked surprised to see me.”
She wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she stepped aside. “Come in.”
He placed the box on her counter, then turned to face her.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said softly.
“I’ve been busy,” she mumbled.
“Busy baking five dozen cupcakes in one night?”
Zara blinked. “How did you—?”
“Nina posted it on her story. With the caption ‘My sister handles heartbreak with frosting.’”
Zara groaned. “She did what?”
Dami chuckled, then sobered. “Look, Zara. If this is about that picture…”
Her arms tensed.
“…it was an old post. My cousin Leila tagged me late. We went to her graduation party three months ago. She's like a sister.”
Zara blinked.
“Wait… cousin?”
“Yes. Cousin. As in, born by my aunt. Related by blood. Very non-romantic.”
Zara looked away, suddenly feeling ridiculous.
“You could’ve just asked,” he added gently.
“I didn’t want to look desperate,” she admitted.
“You already did. But in a cute way.”
Zara laughed despite herself. “You're annoying.”
“I get that a lot. Mostly from women I like.”
She folded her arms again, but her lips curved upward. “I’m sorry.”
“I accept your apology and also the imaginary cupcake I know you baked with my name in mind.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re difficult. Perfect match.”
They stood there, smiling in silence for a beat.
Then Zara stepped forward. “Do you still want that shawarma?”
His face lit up like a child offered ice cream.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
As they walked down her street toward the shawarma joint, Dami casually slid his hand into hers.
Zara glanced at their intertwined fingers, then looked up at him.
“I’m not great at this, you know,” she said.
“I don’t need perfection,” he replied. “I just need honesty.”
She nodded slowly, feeling the wind shift inside her chest—less storm, more breeze.
Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t falling alone.
- Writer
